


An almost perfect alibi

by Liviapenn



Category: Eroica Yori Ai o Komete | From Eroica with Love
Genre: Blackmail, Fencing, M/M, Sparring, Spies & Secret Agents, Yuletide 2008
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-23
Updated: 2008-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-14 10:09:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/148131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liviapenn/pseuds/Liviapenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A treat for Musamihi in the Yuletide 2008 challenge. Thanks to voksen and yuletidefairy for helping with the swordfighting scene; any errors are mine alone.</p>
    </blockquote>





	An almost perfect alibi

**Author's Note:**

  * For [musamihi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/musamihi/gifts).



> A treat for Musamihi in the Yuletide 2008 challenge. Thanks to voksen and yuletidefairy for helping with the swordfighting scene; any errors are mine alone.

Autumn was coming to North Downs, and Dorian was out for a stroll, doing his best to enjoy the last few days of warmth before the sun began to fade away entirely. The occasional melancholy leaf gave up the ghost and danced down through the air as he walked. Dorian held out his hand for one, murmuring a line from Hopkins, but the leaf zigged on an air current when it should have zagged and escaped him, ruining what would have been a very poetic effect. Just his luck, lately.

For a while he climbed a westerly road, heading up a to a ridge that still hosted faint remnants of an Iron Age hill-fort. Legend said that the locals had put up a good show against the Romans here. Sometimes Dorian liked to scale this hill while imagining that he was a Druid priest or a pagan warrior; perhaps an archer in leather sandals laced up to the knee, magnificently adorned in spiralling tattoos and face-paint. And sometimes there were also proud, green-eyed centurions. But those were summer fancies, and the autumn day wasn't anywhere near warm enough to sustain them. With a sigh, Dorian bypassed the fort, half-jogging down the ridge until he found a familiar footpath.

The path edged nothing more picturesque than a weedy, overgrown field, and Dorian only followed it for a short time before turning away, into the woods that surrounded Castle Gloria. It wasn't exactly cheery today, but a month from now a walk through these woods would be a truly miserable trudge, muddy and treacherous. The paths would turn to gullies with ice lurking in their depths, and the dry, rustling leaves would melt into slick, decaying layers of muck. Dorian kicked at a nearby pile of leaves. Refusing to catch the breeze and flee their inevitable fate, they settled perversely to the ground again.

"Milord!"

Dorian raised his head, hearing Bonham's familiar shout. His right-hand man was hurrying over the neatly trimmed lawn, towards the edge of the woods. Dorian hastened his own steps, hoisting himself easily over the low wooden fence that encircled the grounds.

"What is it?" he called as Bonham approached. He looked nervous. Not 'fuel up the zeppelin and begin dispensing false passports' nervous, more like-- But it couldn't be, not here. And especially not after Zurich.

"Milord," Bonham said, panting, "there be a visitor..."

"The official sort of visitor?" Dorian inquired, idly examining the dirt under his nails.

"It be the Major. I didn't know where ye'd gotten to, milord--"

"Wonderful." Dorian frowned. It was so very like the Major to visit Castle Gloria while Dorian was dressed down about as far as it was possible to be, in grubby running shoes, worn blue jeans and a plain black t-shirt. At least his windbreaker was red.

"I put him in the sitting-room, sir. He's been waiting twenty minutes."

"Yes, all right," Dorian said. He gave Bonham a pat on the shoulder. "Take heart, O good and faithful servant. He probably just came to return that earring I lost in Bonn, that's all." He laughed at the thought, striking off towards the castle.

As he approached, Dorian's vanity battled his curiosity. His impulse to wash up and put together a really sensational outfit was strong, but so was the urge to find out what could have possibly prompted the Major to call. After a rough and dirty fight, his curiosity won the day. Whatever it was that had brought the Major here, onto Dorian's territory, it must be awfully impressive, especially after-- No. Dorian pushed Zurich out of his mind as he entered the castle, hurrying through its spacious halls. The Major had rejected him, that was all. Nothing odd about that. Dorian wasn't going to give it a second thought.

  


* * *

  


Having stopped only to run a razor over his face, comb his hair, put it into a ponytail, pull it out of the ponytail again, and put it back into the ponytail once more, Dorian strode into the sitting room where the Major waited. He pulled the tie from his hair impatiently, tossing his head to shake his hair out. Of course it looked better down-- what _had_ he been thinking?

The Major looked as he always did, forever and ever amen. His clothes were crisp, if unstylish, his tie was a tragedy, and his expression was businesslike, betraying only slight impatience. Dear Klaus. Dorian had always enjoyed ruffling other people's feathers, and the Major was an eternal temptation in that regard. Among others.

He had, Dorian noticed, dragged one of the Queen Anne chairs nearly eight inches out of place, turning it fifteen degrees to the left. It ruined the neat arrangement of the furniture in the room, but allowed the Major to sit facing both the door and the window. It was very like him.

Just about the only thing that wasn't entirely as usual was that Klaus wasn't armed; Dorian had long mourned the way the holstered .44 played havoc with the line of Klaus' suit jackets (James Bond never seemed to have that problem in the movies) but he didn't seem to be packing heat today. Perhaps he had not wanted to bring a prized possession into a literal den of thieves.

"Afternoon, Major," Dorian said. Bonham had thoughtfully handed him a bottle of water as he passed through the kitchen, and he twisted the top off with a quick wrench, drinking deeply and then passing the back of his hand over his mouth. "Sorry about the wait," he offered, "but if this is business, you should have called ahead and made an appointment. I promise I'd have pencilled you in."

Klaus frowned, then nodded once. Well, well.

Dorian settled into the chair across from Klaus'. "This isn't a social call, then?"

"It is not. I need a favor," Klaus said, very carefully, if the words were bits of broken glass.

"After all the shouting, and all the smashed crockery..." Somehow Dorian doubted that the next words out of the Major's mouth would be _I desperately need you to forgive me for saying all those awful things to you in Zurich, darling._ That being the case, it was incumbent on Dorian to make the Major squirm as much as possible before agreeing to do whatever it was he actually wanted done. "A personal favor, from Eroica with love? You must really be in trouble."

Klaus' jaw tightened, but that was all. "Tell me. Where have you been for the last two days?"

Ah. Dorian blinked, wondering what he was supposed to have done. He hadn't heard of any particularly splendid thefts within the last forty-eight hours, and his information sources were usually impeccable. Perhaps it was something so big that the authorities were covering it up especially well? He raised his eyebrows at Klaus. "Here and there. Why?"

"Idiot," Klaus said, his hands tensing, but not yet curling into fists. "I am not accusing you of anything. It is important. Where were you on Thursday and Friday?"

"Well, since you ask so nicely, Major, I was here," Dorian said, spreading his hands.

"The truth, damn it!" Klaus insisted.

It was the truth, actually. But of course Klaus would never believe it if Dorian didn't make him pay for it somehow. He sighed and rose from his seat, crossing to a desk set against the far wall and rummaging around inside its drawers for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Sitting down again, he made a slow, careful production of lighting his cigarette, then inhaled. "Let's make a deal," he suggested. "A truth for a truth. I'll tell you what I was doing if you tell me why you need to know."

Klaus pressed his lips together. Dorian waited, the very picture of patience. Finally Klaus looked away, and Dorian hid a smile with his hand, turning the gesture into the idle twiddling of a curl as Klaus' gaze snapped back in his direction.

"I have a covert operative who requires an alibi," Klaus said. "For certain reasons that are not pertinent, NATO's usual procedures will not suffice."

"An operative. One of the Alphabets?" Dorian asked, but Klaus shook his head.

Dorian frowned, considering as he smoked. What enemy of NATO's worth their salt didn't know that Dorian Red Gloria was the master criminal Eroica? And once you knew that, how gullible would you have to be to take Dorian at his word regarding anyone's whereabouts? But perhaps there was a reason Klaus wanted this particular operative's name to be associated with Dorian's. As a way of making a connection, through him, to one of Dorian's shadier contacts, perhaps. Without Dorian knowing about it, of course... Interesting. It was possible.

"You want me to vouch for your man's whereabouts," Dorian probed. "To say that he was working for me, perhaps?"

"I want you only to say that he was here," Klaus said, "for those two days. If it cannot be proved that you were elsewhere."

"No, I was here," Dorian confirmed, shifting into a more businesslike mode now that Klaus was being more reasonable. "I'll give you the rundown, if you like." Klaus didn't object, so he continued. "On Thursday, Bonham brought me a late breakfast in my room, around eleven." He waited for, then proceeded to ignore, Klaus' snort of disdain. "I spent the afternoon in the gallery, and went for a walk in the garden sometime after four. I came in to make a few phone calls to business associates between five and six o'clock. Dinner was at six, after which I stayed up in my study reading till quite late, and then retired. I don't think anyone saw me all day except Bonham and Jonesy."

"And on Friday?"

Dorian thought about it. "Again, a late breakfast. It was a gorgeous day, and I went for a run around the grounds in the early part of the afternoon, and then spent some time practicing my fencing. Some friends did drop by for drinks later in the evening..."

"How late?"

"Nine or so. They were all gone by two in the morning, or thereabouts."

"That is all right," Klaus said. "Independent confirmation that you were here will be--" A thought seemed to strike him, and he stopped. "By 'friends,' do you mean criminal associates?"

"Surprisingly, no." Dorian blew smoke into the air. "Honest citizens."

"Ah," Klaus said. "Marks."

It was an insulting assumption. It was also quite true. "You're lucky the current heist is still in early stages, and happened to involve inviting the new and easily impressed _marks_ for a few friendly drinks up at Castle Gloria," Dorian informed him. "For one thing, it's why James _isn't_ here." And by extension, most of the rest of his team; it took quite a production to distract James away from Dorian's side these days. Only the threat of the whole gang going on an expensive trip, without anyone there to keep track of the budget, had been enough to get James out of the way while Dorian played host to Eroica's latest target. "I didn't want him giving my guests the wrong impression."

"You mean the right impression: that this is a castle full of fucking lunatics." Klaus grimaced as soon as he said it, obviously remembering just a bit too late that he was supposed to be asking Dorian for a favor.

"As you say," Dorian demurred. "Of course you see that I would certainly prefer not to raise inconvenient suspicions in my friends' minds by, for instance, asking them to confirm my whereabouts to a representative of law enforcement. Even if it's only to prove the total innocence of an unfairly maligned acquaintance, and clearly no reflection on me personally, that is the sort of mental association that tends to linger. But if it's absolutely crucial..."

"It is."

"Well, I'm sure it is to you, Major," Dorian said. "We have not yet determined whether it's going to be a priority for me."

Klaus shrugged. "Name your price."

"The _Man in Purple_."

"No!"

"Why not?" Dorian wheedled. "You don't appreciate it. You don't even like it."

"That makes no difference! It is--"

"A priceless part of the cultural heritage of Germany, _ein unbezahlbares Teil des Kulturerbes von Deutschland!_ Yes, yes-- you see, I can do your part too by now," Dorian said. "All right then, as long as you're offering absolutely _anything_..."

_"No!"_

Dorian sighed. "You're not really getting into the spirit of _Name your price_ , Major."

Klaus sat there and looked disgruntled. He was very good at it. "Pick something that you know I can provide," he said. "And that won't make me thump you for asking!"

"All right..." Dorian cast his eyes to the heavens briefly. "Oh, I know. I want to see a copy of my NATO file."

Klaus' eyes narrowed. Truth be told, Dorian didn't really care what his NATO file said, and to the extent that he did care, he could guess. Presumably Klaus' reports composed the bulk of it, after all. But he did want to ask for the most irritating, inconvenient thing he could possibly imagine, and judging from Klaus' expression, he had succeeded. He widened his eyes and waited, taking a long drag on his cigarette.

"Very well," Klaus said.

"Really?" Dorian choked, then waved away the cloud of smoke in front of his face. "I mean, lovely. Well then." He stubbed his cigarette out and stood up. "As I recall, the last time you were here, you barely got past the front hall. Would you like a tour? After all," he added, "you're going to have to be able to describe it to your operative. That is, if you want him to be able to convince anybody that he was a guest here for two whole days."

Klaus eyed him suspiciously, then stood, gesturing Dorian to precede him into the corridor. "Very well."

  


* * *

  


Dorian had given a very similar tour of the castle just the other night, to the shabby-genteel Duke of Plamesborough and his _nouveau riche_ American wife. He had tailored his yarns to his audience, name-dropping impressive historical figures for the Duke and spinning sad tales of stubbornly virginal maidens locked in cold stone towers for the lady. However, he had a feeling that the Major would not be enthralled by either of these topics, and so this time around Dorian tried to give his impromptu tour a somewhat more martial bent.

"Certain sections of the castle have elements dating back to the eleventh century. For instance, the battlements there are nearly all authentic. Well, some." Dorian pointed through one of the bay windows in the hallway. Unfortunately, despite Dorian's attempt to tailor the lecture to its audience, Klaus clearly couldn't have cared less. "The main building was besieged twice during the Civil War, but never taken," Dorian tried. "There are actually still a few cannonballs lodged in the... Oh, never mind. Here is the Old Chapel," he sighed. "Observe the silk curtains, hand-painted in China, as well as the carved oak ceiling with its unique motif of lilies..."

"Very nice," Klaus said, clearly still not listening, as he hadn't even bothered to look up. Dorian moved on.

"And here we have the Lowell Room, an excellent example of... very many things which you clearly don't give a fig for. Ah, but do notice the tapestry of St. George and the dragon." Klaus regarded the tapestry in question politely, his expression only sharpening when Dorian moved closer and pushed the bulk of it aside, revealing a narrow panel set slightly into the stone. "Secret tunnels!" he announced. "Built into the walls in the seventeenth century, expanded upon during the war. It is said that Vice Admiral Ramsay planned Operation Dynamo from these very tunnels."

"Here? No. That was Dover Castle," Klaus said.

"Ha!" Dorian said. "Trust me, that's exactly what we _wanted_ the Germans to think... Oh, who are you going to believe, me or the history books?" He gave Klaus his best schoolboy grin. "If you don't believe me, come have a look. It's ever so historical."

Klaus narrowed his eyes, but only said "I think not."

"Your loss," Dorian said. "So, then. When exactly should I say you arrived here on Thursday?"

The Major glared, but really. As if Dorian had believed his ridiculous story, even for a moment! A mysterious unnamed operative, not one of the Alphabets, who suddenly required Dorian to vouch for his whereabouts at second-hand? How very unlikely. How very sloppy, really. Not like Klaus at all.

"You know I can't do my best for you if I'm being kept in the dark," he chided.

"Nonsense. You're a thief, you work best in the dark." Klaus said. He had a very good grip on his temper today, for some reason. It was beginning to be irritating. Dorian had to wonder if it was his own generally untidy appearance; it was probably very easy to feel coolly superior to a man in grubby tennis shoes and blue jeans. He frowned.

"I did wonder if the whole story was simply a pretext to gain access to Castle Gloria for some reason," he said, "but if that was all you wanted, we both know you'd only have to whistle... No, I think it's you that needs the alibi, Major."

"Why don't you show me the grounds?" Klaus suggested, as though Dorian hadn't spoken at all. "Where you run, and where you practice your fencing."

"Re-enacting my movements on the day in question. What an amusing idea," Dorian said. "Let's."

  


* * *

  


Klaus actually laughed at him when he saw the practice yard, and the assorted fencing dummies installed on posts here and there. "No wonder you are so awful with a sword," he said, "if you only fight with scarecrows!"

"For your information, I happen to be an excellent fencer," Dorian said, his pride stung. "I suppose you're thinking of my duel with al-Sabaah--"

"If al-Sabaah had not killed you, I was planning on finishing the job," Klaus told him, "and yet, in the meantime, even I was embarrassed for you."

Dorian reddened. "That was in no way a fair fight," he muttered, turning and entering the well-kept equipment shed, with its racks of swords and other fencing gear stowed neatly on metal shelves. "Expecting me to duel with a scimitar, really. Do I look like Lawrence of Arabia to you? Ah, here's a thought-- now if al-Sabaah had been wielding a scimitar, and I'd had a broadsword, like a Crusader--"

Klaus suppressed a smirk. "Why not a full suit of armor as well?"

"Well, I suppose those who can't, criticize," Dorian retorted.

"Who says I can't fence?" Klaus ran his finger along the blade of one of Dorian's favorite swords, an antique sixteenth-century rapier whose blade was etched with tiny suns, moons and stars.

"You did!" Dorian said. "You said fencing was a totally pointless activity!"

Klaus glanced up. "When did I say that?"

"Yonks ago, in Rome! Just before you _pushed me in the river_ ," Dorian said. "Surely you remember that."

"Oh," Klaus said thoughtfully, and then he actually grinned, the bastard. "So I did. Well, it is useless, in and of itself. But you can learn from doing it."

"I'll bet you can," Dorian murmured. He pulled a sword from the wall, not an antique but a slim, modern épée blade. Cupping it by the hand-guard, he held it out to Klaus. "This, I simply have to see. Do say that you will grant me the honor."

Klaus gave him a cool, amused stare. "Do you really want to take the risk?"

Dorian smiled. "What a stupid question. Don't I always?"

  


* * *

  


Dorian watched out of the corner of his eye as Klaus sorted through the chest protectors, finally finding one that fit. Well, it wasn't Dorian's fault that he didn't usually fence with men who were built like tanks.

He wondered idly whether Klaus' height and bulk would end up being an advantage or a disadvantage in the coming fight. Someone who didn't know Klaus as well as Dorian did might have automatically assumed the latter, but Dorian knew from experience how physically formidable the man could be, and perhaps more importantly, he had never gotten anywhere by underestimating the Major.

Once all the safety gear was on, Dorian handed the Major a fencing mask, watching as he settled the collar and adjusted the gray mesh of the mask to his liking. How unromantic, to fight a faceless enemy! If only they could duel without all the silly precautions, padding and masks and gloves and such. Bared to the waist would be preferable, actually.

Walking out into the practice yard again, his own mask dangling from his fingertips, Dorian inhaled the crisp autumn air and then did a few preliminary stretches, raising his arms high and bending to touch his toes. He was remembering every glimpse of the Major's impressive body that he'd managed to steal over the years, rare and treasured: his sleeve torn from his shirt in order to make a bandage for his muscular upper arm. The curve of his back above a tightly-knotted towel. The hint of a collarbone, just visible through a shirt made translucent by sweat... They hadn't even crossed swords yet, and Dorian's heart was already racing.

He rocked back and forth a bit, from heel to toe and back again, then impulsively stripped off his shoes and socks, ignoring Klaus' raised eyebrow. The practice grounds were well-kept, the ground firm and even, especially here. It would be all right. He settled his mask over his face, then led Klaus out into the middle of the practice area. Turning to face the Major, Dorian raised his sword in a jaunty salute.

"To first blood!" he proposed. "Épée rules, if that suits."

"As you like." Klaus whipped his sword up to match Dorian's salute, crisp as a clockwork soldier. Even with his hair tied neatly back and the faceguard blanking his face, Dorian could have picked him out of a crowd of thousands.

Hands steady and spirits high, Dorian engaged the Major cautiously, but without trepidation. He made a preliminary move, just testing, and Klaus parried, staying planted to the ground like a statue. Dorian wondered just how out of practice Klaus really was. He moved in again, and Klaus parried again. They were both being careful. It was somewhat disappointing.

"Why are you holding back?" Dorian challenged, lunging in for another strike. This time he put a bit of flash into it, but not too much. He knew why he was playing it safe, but he wouldn't have expected it from Klaus. Where was the danger he carried with him wherever he went? Where was the haste, the confusion, the anger?

"Perhaps I'm waiting to see if you-- no. You always fight dirty. I am waiting to see _how_ dirty."

Dorian was suddenly glad Klaus couldn't see his expression behind the mesh of his mask. Those words, in the Major's accent... "I fight exactly as dirty as I have to. Doesn't everyone?"

"No," Klaus said. "Most people have at least some instinctive sense of self-preservation."

"Tell me, where did you study fencing, Major?" Dorian asked, circling to the left. "Was it at university? Were you part of the _Mensur?_ Have you got any sexy dueling scars?"

"No," Klaus said shortly, although Dorian noted that he didn't specify which question he'd just answered. Instead, he pushed forward and engaged Dorian directly, their blades clashing and sliding against each other. Dorian could feel the trembling vibration of it, all the way down his arm and up into his shoulder. Though Klaus was masked, Dorian could feel the heat of his gaze, and he could have sketched the man's expression from memory-- those steady glass-green eyes, that knotted, angry brow.

"When I fought al-Sabaah, by the way, I also had one hell of a hangover," Dorian said, crouching as he readied himself to disengage. He pushed away from Klaus, breathing hard. It was a good thing James wasn't watching. He would have been shrieking in terror by this stage. Or else calling Dorian's insurance agent.

"I don't imagine al-Sabaah was feeling his best either," Klaus said as they pushed away from each other, circling in the grass. "You had gassed him unconscious in his hotel room the night before, hadn't you?" He lunged, and Dorian stepped neatly aside. "In the _Mensur_ , by the way," Klaus added, his breathing still infuriatingly even, "there is no dodging or running away."

Dorian rather suspected the Major of exaggerating on that point, but it didn't really matter. "Oh, you were a student-duellist!" He feinted, then struck at Klaus' right side, but Klaus hadn't fallen for the feint and was ready for him. "You terrible liar-- I am positively delighted. How romantic. Perhaps later I will examine you for scars."

"Ha!" Klaus said, parrying another of Dorian's thrusts and advancing at the same time. Ah yes, now there was the Major that Dorian knew. Aggressive. Reckless. Wonderfully vicious. "Perhaps that will happen right after you win. And pigs fly."

Dorian retreated, scowling behind his mask. He had been hoping get Klaus to fly into a temper, but it didn't seem as if insinuation were going to do the trick. Not this afternoon, anyway. He changed tactics. "By the way, where _were_ you on Thursday night?"

"None of your business."

"You came here specifically to make it my business," Dorian shot back. "Perhaps that's another thing we can discuss after I win. Oh, you're not bad, but university was a long time ago-- for you, that is, Major."

"Goddamn it--!" said the Major. It was probably the best opportunity Dorian was going to get. He crouched and sprang, managing to get in under the Major's guard. He feinted again, but didn't get a chance to follow up, forced instead to take a backwards leap to avoid the swing of Klaus' blade. And then as if by magic, he was inside the arc of Klaus' arm again, stretching his own arm out straight to drive the thrust home.

He heard the scrape of his blade over the fabric, just above the heart, and felt the jolt of victory all the way down to his toes. Taking two full steps back, he pushed his mask up, the better to appreciate Klaus' indignant posture. "A hit, a very palpable hit!"

Klaus didn't look particularly indignant, though. And he hadn't lowered his sword. "Why are you stopping?"

"First blood!" Dorian beamed, free hand planted triumphantly on his hip. "I win."

Klaus reached up with a gloved hand to check the spot where Dorian had gotten him. "I'm not bleeding."

"It's just an expression," Dorian said. "We're not actually..."

"Oh, no?"

Dorian took a breath, resisting the urge to take another, very big, step back. "Now, Major--"

Klaus still hadn't lowered his sword. "You had better put that mask back on. Unless of course you wish to acquire a sexy dueling scar."

"...As you like." Dorian smiled sunnily, forcing himself to hold the expression until his mask was in place again. Suddenly his own heartbeat sounded incredibly loud in his ears.

Klaus feinted low, then struck high, at Dorian's shoulder. Dorian jerked back. That had been dangerously quick, much quicker than the Major's previous advances. Another thrust came, and another, forcing Dorian to execute a quick parry-riposte, but now he hardly had time to catch his breath between lunges.

As the fight went on-- or as it truly began-- Dorian realized that Klaus was, perhaps, not as unimaginative or cautious a duellist as he might have expected. As always, though, Dorian tended to do some of his best work under pressure. Going on the offensive, he actually managed to drive Klaus back a few paces. But inevitably, Klaus pushed back, his sword flashing hypnotically against the greying sky. He was magnificent; completely unstoppable. Dorian retreated, dodging left, and his bare foot came down suddenly on something sharp. He staggered, off-balance, and threw himself sideways, tumbling to the ground in order to avoid getting accidentally impaled. Rolling over, he started to push himself back up, then froze. The tip of Klaus' blade was resting just under the low collar of his face-guard.

Well, then. Dorian stayed where he was, awkwardly propped on one elbow, and used his other hand to push his mask up. He looked up at Klaus, still faceless behind his own mask, his bulky frame set off by the dark trees that surrounded the grounds. "May I remind you, Major, this is only a little friendly practice? Your usual tactics are effective, but perhaps a touch unnecessary."

Klaus made a sound that might have been a laugh or an indignant snort, and kept his blade at Dorian's throat.

"And may I add," Dorian continued, the point of the blade still hovering just above his skin, the faintest and most maddening tickle, "your footwork is appalling, and in this as in so much else, you have no sense of style whatsoever. Oh, yes, you can bull your way through like a Panzer-division-- well done!-- but where is your sense of delicacy? Where is your _precision_?"

"You're not dead, are you?" Klaus snapped, and Dorian felt the point of the blade, finally, tangibly, like a sliver of ice against his skin. He held very still, not daring to speak. He did blink a few times though, meaningfully, and after what seemed like years Klaus took the blade away.

"Temper, temper," Dorian said, then shut up as Klaus' wrist jerked, the blade swinging back towards Dorian like a compass needle to the North. He raised a hand in silent surrender, waited till Klaus switched the sword to his left hand, then stretched it out for a bit of help.

"I should be used to your tricks by now," Klaus grumbled, grabbing Dorian by the elbow and hauling him easily to his feet.

"You don't think you know _all_ my tricks, do you?" Insinuation colored Dorian's tone, purely out of habit. He leaned in against Klaus' body, briefly, before Klaus stepped away. "Believe me, there are lots you've never seen. I'd be glad to show you, if you really are curious."

"I really am... hungry," the Major said, staring in the direction of the castle. He pulled his mask off, raising his eyebrows in what Dorian fervently hoped was not meant to be a mocking parody of Dorian's own innocent look. A few strands of hair had come loose from his short ponytail, giving him a deliciously mussed air. "When did you say there would be food?"

"Brute," Dorian said with reluctant admiration. "Come on, then."

He took a step towards the equipment shed, brushing dirt and loose bits of grass from his jeans. Then he stopped, reminded by the sting in the sole of his foot that there was a pebble or a bottlecap or something that ought to be removed from the grounds before someone got hurt. He turned back, crouching to run his hands through the grass, then stopped, picking a tiny, sparkling object carefully out of the dirt.

It was his missing earring, unmistakably so: a web of white gold in the rough shape of a blossoming flower, with a cluster of tiny rubies in the center. "Where did this come from?"

"How the hell should I know?" Klaus said. His voice was muffled as he pulled his chest-guard off, over his head.

"I thought I lost this in Cologne-Bonn airport," Dorian said, twiddling with it to brush bits of dirt out of the mesh. The clip was bent and the hinge crushed, but that could be fixed. He held it up so Klaus could look. "Were you going to return it? Or had you been planning to hold onto it-- a sentimental keepsake, perhaps?-- before then changing your mind and deciding that it would be a good idea to use an expensive, antique piece of jewelry as an impromptu _caltrop_?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Klaus said, turning towards the equipment shed. "Clearly you should not be so careless with your little trinkets."

"Little trinkets!" Dorian said, his fist tightening around the earring. "This is vintage! It's _Cartier_ \--! Oh, never mind. It was sweet of you to bring it to me, Major."

"I told you--"

"I know," Dorian said. Rising, he followed the Major. "It was sweet anyway."

  


* * *

  


As he led Klaus up the broad stone steps onto the terrace, Dorian noted with pleasure that Bonham had set out a wonderful spread of snacks and sweets. There were all his favorites, including roast chicken, foie gras, oysters Bordelaise, scallops and pommes Anna; there was also coffee and a very good ten-year-old Calvados. Smiling, Dorian poured himself a generous snifter of brandy. He also poured one for Klaus, without waiting for the Major to ask.

He had eventually learned better than to try to have any meaningful conversation with Klaus while he was eating, and so lunch was a rather dull affair, enlivened only near the end of the meal by Klaus' decision to flick specks of his foie gras to the scrawny black-and-white cat that usually spent its days prowling around behind the stables.

"Don't," Dorian tsked. "She's a working cat. She's supposed to eat mice." He was accustomed to the fact that old, run-down estates needed cats. He was not, however, resigned to cat _hair_ , and therefore did not approve of encouraging the animal to come rub up against people's ankles for treats.

"Why should the cat have to work for a living?" Klaus asked. "Nobody else here does."

Dorian thought about that. Then he sawed off a slice of roast chicken, centered it on a small serving-plate, added a dollop of foie gras, and leaned over to push the plate to the edge of the terrace.

When he straightened up again, Klaus was smirking.

Dorian smiled back. Unlike the cat, Klaus was going to have to sing for his supper. "So, Major. How long, exactly, have we been carrying on our secret affair?"

Klaus' knuckles whitened around the stem of his brandy snifter, and Dorian wondered if perhaps he should have waited until the Major wasn't holding anything with a tendency to shatter under pressure.

"Well, that is what the cover story is going to be, isn't it?" he continued. "They will call you into the office and present their suspicions. And they will ask, _can you account for your whereabouts on the night in question?_ And only since you are in _such_ a bad spot, and only since you absolutely _must_ , you will reluctantly inform them that you and I have been lovers since-- Rome, perhaps? Egypt? ... Zurich?"

"Zurich will do," Klaus said. He moved to set his brandy down, then very obviously reconsidered and drained the glass, knocking it back in two quick swallows. Dorian pushed the bottle over to his side of the table, and Klaus poured himself another without comment.

"And they will know that you would never, ever confess to such a thing unless it were true. And so they'll never think to doubt your story. Very clever," Dorian said.

"The night the Vergano woman was arrested..." Klaus said, as though Dorian hadn't spoken at all.

"...and I stopped by your room to drop off her bag. Yes, that's exactly what I was thinking," Dorian said. "We shall say the evening ended a bit differently than it really did. And this past Thursday, that would be our first liason since Zurich. Well, that makes things very simple."

Klaus nodded, once. Poor man. He looked as though he were being forced through the conversation at gunpoint. It must be awfully hard to have principles like the Major's, Dorian thought, not for the first time.

"I suppose you're still not going to tell me what you were actually doing on Thursday night?" Dorian wondered.

Klaus' hand tightened around the edge of the table. "It is not--"

"More specifically, I'm curious as to what you did that's so bad that the _better_ option is letting NATO and possibly the world learn that you've been having a clandestine homosexual affair with an internationally infamous master criminal." He reached out across the table, tucking a lock of Klaus' hair behind his ear. "What have you done, my dutiful Major, that your superiors can't ever know? ... Did you kill someone?"

That made Klaus meet his eyes again. "Yes."

"Ah." Dorian sat back in his chair, watching as Klaus turned his attention to a third brandy. He had assumed that it was something along those lines. But he hadn't actually expected Klaus to come right out and admit it. Unless he were being facetious. Even now, Dorian couldn't always tell.

" _Scheisse!_ I might as well tell you," Klaus finally grumbled, sounding more irritated with himself than Dorian. "I might as well! Why not? Why not anything? You have a hold over me now. You would anyway."

It took a moment to untangle all that; Klaus' accent had grown thick, mangling his words. "You mean, I could march into the Chief's office at any point in the future and suddenly say, oh, I've just now remembered, Klaus was never here at all on the night in question? You're quite right, I could." Dorian inched closer, leaning an elbow on the table. He started toying with Klaus' hair again, running his finger over the curve of Klaus' ear. "I don't just have a hold on you now, Major, I have a hold on you forever."

Klaus hissed in frustration, twisting around to capture Dorian's wrist in a hard grip. "Stop it."

"I suppose you could just tell them I was lying. That we'd had a lovers' quarrel--"

"God, shut up!" Klaus roared, shoving Dorian's wrist away. "You never let things alone. You never know what's good for you. You can't--"

"Yes, yes," Dorian said. "Guilty as charged. But as the scorpion says in the tale: you knew it when you picked me up. So to speak." Hiding his hands in his lap, he curled them into fists. "Come upstairs with me, Major." It was probably not the best moment. It was probably not the best tack to take. But Dorian didn't know when there would be another chance like this. His hands were suddenly very cold. He hadn't had a case of nerves like this in ages, or maybe ever.

Klaus' eyes flashed up to his, his usual reserve cracking a bit. Panic and fury and something Dorian couldn't name were crashing about in his look, like icebergs in a stormy sea.

"After all, if you're supposed to have stayed here, overnight," Dorian said, barely able to hear his own voice over the roaring in his ears, "if we're actually supposed to have-- made love-- I'm going to need some idea as to what it was like."

Klaus swallowed roughly, his face blank of emotion again. Someone who didn't know him as well as Dorian did might not even have thought he was angry. It was always intriguing, watching the Major's temper go red-hot, then white-hot, then red-hot again. Dorian had made something of a study of inspiring the shift, just to see what would do it, although sometimes it wasn't even anything he had done. But Klaus would do what he had to for his mission, temper or no temper, Dorian was very sure of that. He always did.

"You presume too much, Eroica," Klaus said.

"Do I? But however will I give you a convincing alibi if I don't know what I'm even talking about?" Dorian asked. He sipped his brandy, and smiled at Klaus over the rim of the snifter. "I think you're going to have to bite the bullet, my love. Otherwise, who knows? I might say the wrong thing at the wrong moment; my account might not be _entirely_ convincing... And that would be just too terribly tragic for you, wouldn't it?"

Klaus slammed his hand down flat on the table with a bang. The black and white cat shot off towards the woods, bristling. "You and your fucking manipulations," he roared, "you and your schemes! And you fucking wonder why I loathe the sight of you!"

"Oh, please. The Major doth protest too much!" Dorian leaned back in his chair, smiling, although his heart was pounding almost painfully in his chest. "Don't tell me that you didn't suspect it would come to this." And surely that was true. Surely Klaus would have known that Dorian would be able to see straight through his silly, flimsy story. As if everybody in the world didn't already suspect that Dorian and the Major were lovers! It was the best cover story in the world, precisely because it was so obvious. It was absolutely perfect.

The only problem was that it wasn't actually true.

"I didn't think it was possible to underestimate the depths you'd descend to for this stupid, sick obsession of yours!" If possible, Klaus got even louder. Red-hot again, Dorian observed. Interesting. "You bloody queer, how _dare_ you threaten me? You can't possibly imagine that I'd ever, _ever_ let you--"

"I think," Dorian said calmly, "that if you had any other choice, you wouldn't be here."

Klaus made no answer to that. Well, what answer was there?

Dorian stood up, holding out his hand. "Come, Major. Do me the honor."

Klaus pushed his chair back as well, and stood. He didn't take Dorian's hand, but Dorian hadn't really expected him to. He was white-hot again, expressionless and moving stiffly, but when Dorian turned to go into the house, Klaus followed. That was enough to satisfy Dorian. For the moment, anyway.

  


* * *

  


Dorian led Klaus into his bedroom, then wished he'd had the forethought to send Bonham in to tidy up a bit. Ah, well. What mattered the surroundings, when Klaus was here? He led Klaus to the foot of the bed, then began fiddling with his tie. He didn't undo the knot, just loosened it enough to pull it over Klaus' head, then dropped the knotted loop over one of the posts at the foot of his four-poster bed.

Klaus was still glaring.

"Lighten up, Major," Dorian said, pushing Klaus' jacket off his shoulders. "You'd think I was going to stick needles under your fingernails or something. This will be fun. Trust me." He'd meant the last bit to be deliberately provocative, but Klaus didn't take the bait. He did shrug once to help Dorian get the jacket off, though. Dorian caught it before it could slide to the floor, then turned to his desk, hanging Klaus' jacket over the back of his chair so that it wouldn't wrinkle too badly.

"Do you see me complaining?" Klaus finally said. He was actually taking the initiative, Dorian was thrilled to observe: unbuttoning his shirt without even having been asked, revealing his usual white undershirt. "It is a small enough price to pay, to get away with murder."

"I suppose that's a joke," Dorian said as Klaus shrugged off his shirt. Dorian caught that too, tossing it carelessly onto the chair without looking. Only one layer left. "But it's not very funny."

"No," Klaus said sharply, catching Dorian's wrist as he reached out. "You will not pretend that this is anything but what it is. You want this? All right. But if I have to pay the price, then so must you. You're as much a murderer as I am, now."

"Oh, be serious, Major," Dorian said, smiling disbelievingly.

"What?" Klaus said, and yes, there was the fire again. _"What?"_ He let go Dorian's wrist, clenching his fists and swerving left. Dorian flinched, half-expecting the veneer of his Louis XVI armoire to be the unfortunate casualty of a fit of Eberbach temper. But Klaus only growled and sputtered, then raised his hands and roared at no one in particular: "Now the bloody wanker wants to be bloody _serious!_ All right," he said, turning on Dorian, "then let us be clear, Eroica. I had no authorization, I was on no mission, and I killed three people. You are now helping me cover my tracks. Don't pretend you don't know exactly what that makes you: just as much a killer as any thug with a gun."

"Stop it," Dorian said. "That's not-- you don't really. Klaus, you don't really think of it like that, do you?"

"It doesn't matter how I think of it!" Klaus said. "It is what it is. A high price to pay for a fuck, certainly. I don't suppose your accountant would approve--"

"Shut up," Dorian said, and something in his tone must have carried a clear warning, because Klaus did stop. Dorian sometimes reached his own heights of white-hot fury, and he was shaking with it now, two warring impulses tearing at his guts. First there was a icy shock at just how badly Klaus was misreading him (at just how much Klaus hated him) and then a burning fury that demanded that Dorian do something about the insult Klaus had just so casually, so easily delivered. His palm itched to slap Klaus' stupid, smug face; but why stop there? Why indeed, when Klaus was in his power? He could see it: Klaus tied face-down on the bed with Dorian's silk scarves-- that ugly tie knotted around his stupid neck, a leash for Dorian to tug. Oh, Dorian could see how the muscles in his back would tense, how his fingers would clench, how he would struggle as Dorian slowly, methodically stripped everything away-- his denial, his control, his dignity-- "Get out."

Klaus actually stepped back, then scowled. "What?"

"You heard me," Dorian said. All right, so he'd surprised even himself, but there was no way he could go through with it now. Not if Klaus really felt like that. He gathered up Klaus' tie, shirt and jacket, hurling them in his face; Klaus caught them clumsily. "Leave. I don't even want to look at you right now." Dorian turned away again, rummaging amid the mess on the top of the dresser, then whirled around. Klaus was still standing there, clutching his shirt like an idiot, but this time when Dorian held out his hand, Klaus extended his. Dorian slapped a small, gold tie-pin into it. "Take this with you when you give the report to your Chief," he said. "I'll be able to hear whatever you say. You needn't worry. I'll confirm your story." He took a deep breath, some small part of him still unable to believe he was actually going to let Klaus escape his grasp. "Now for God's sake _get out_ before I change my mind."

Once more, Dorian turned his back on Klaus, laying both hands flat on the pink marble top of his dresser and letting his head hang down between his shoulders in pure exhaustion. Behind him, he could hear Klaus putting his shirt back on, and of course grumbling all the bloody way through it. "I don't understand you. As if you didn't already know--"

"Talk about not knowing when to _stop!_ " Dorian slammed a hand down on the dresser, the sound of it unsatisfyingly muted. "You actually think I'd let you get away with murder because I want your fucking _body_ ," he said, still aghast at the thought. "I thought you at least understood that I-- all right, I _don't_ always understand your stupid bloody rules, but don't you know by now that I understand what it's _like_? To have an ideal, to live for a principle--" Perhaps this argument would be more convincing with a visual aid, Dorian thought. He gestured over his shoulder, pointing without looking. "Do you see the painting there?"

Giorgione's _Shepherd Boy_ had pride of place in Dorian's room, installed on an otherwise blank wall above a plain oak bureau. On the way up the stairs, Dorian had actually entertained thoughts of turning the painting to the wall while he and Klaus-- Well. No need for that now.

"Lovely, isn't he? I didn't steal that painting, I earned it," Dorian continued. "Do you know how?"

"I don't--"

"No, but I'll bet you can guess. Go on, say it," Dorian said. "How else would I earn it? How did I?"

"On your back," Klaus said darkly. It hadn't sounded much like a guess.

"Yes," Dorian confirmed with no small amount of bitter amusement. Oh, Klaus knew him _so_ well. And he always did have such a way with words. "On my back. Now ask me if I regret it."

"Of course you don't regret it," Klaus said. "You got what you wanted."

"Gold star for you," Dorian said. Oh, not right away, but he had eventually, and that was what mattered. "And now you tell me. Suppose you had done what you did, killed those men--"

"No," Klaus interrupted, then stopped. Dorian waited. "One was a woman," Klaus finally said, and Dorian swallowed hard. Perhaps Klaus was right. Perhaps he'd rushed in blindly, not really grasping what he'd so easily agreed to get involved in. Even that bare detail was almost too much; just enough to make it real in Dorian's head. He licked his lips, telling himself he'd think about it later.

"Killed-- those people, then," he said, staring blindly at the wall. "Suppose you had killed those people, suppose you'd been caught. You'd have been stripped of your rank, sent to prison. There would be shame on your family name, a shadow on your career, a diplomatic fuss. Perhaps even an international incident. But would you be sorry? As long as you had achieved your original objective, would you regret it?"

Klaus was silent for a long time, and then said, "No. I would not."

"And that is why I love you so," Dorian murmured. "You and I are two of a kind. I didn't see that for the longest time, but it is true. We serve different masters, but in the same way. With all of ourselves, with all our hearts and souls, holding _nothing_ back. 'Men of most renowned virtue have sometimes, by transgressing, most truly kept the law,'" he quoted. "You're no murderer, Major. I know that as surely as I _have_ a heart and a soul."

"For Christ's sake," Klaus snapped, and Dorian jumped. The Major had gotten closer while Dorian had poured out his disappointment, and his sudden nearness had been startling. He could practically feel Klaus' breath on the back of his neck. "If you have to--" Klaus said, strangled, "if-- if you have to say things like that, then at least fucking call me Klaus when you do it!"

Dorian's eyes went wide, and then a broad hand curled around his bicep, jerking him around to look Klaus in the face. The Major looked determined, furious, and then he took Dorian's other arm in a similar grip, holding him still for-- oh, _God_ \-- a hard kiss. Oh, it was barely a kiss, close-mouthed and clumsy, off-center and ending far too quickly as Klaus jerked back, gasping.

But-- but-- Dorian stared, mouth agape as he realized that the Major had kissed him. _Kissed him_ , without being threatened or bribed or blackmailed. Without even being asked. "Major," he said, then laughed, a little desperately. "I mean Klaus--"

"This isn't one of your fucking romantic adventures," Klaus told him.

"I didn't really think it was." Dorian's own voice was barely under control. He reached out as if mesmerized and slowly untucked Klaus' undershirt. He ran one hand up underneath it, stroking Klaus' smooth, hard chest, sliding his other arm around Klaus' neck and pulling him close. "Kiss me again."

Klaus closed his eyes and leaned forward, missing Dorian's mouth at first. His lips brushed Dorian's cheekbone, the corner of his mouth, and then they found their target. This kiss was better. Klaus tasted of coffee and brandy: hot and bitter, sweet and sharp, and Dorian was lost.

Dorian had planned to go slow, so as not to overwhelm Klaus. He had planned, if this ever were to actually happen, to soothe and seduce Klaus. To make him feel safe. But the heat between them, here and now, was like nothing Dorian had ever felt, and he had no control, none at all. It passed over him like a forest fire, like a flash flood, in disconnected, flickering images and sensations. One thing he remembered, afterwards, was fumbling like a virgin at Klaus' belt while Klaus tried to tug Dorian's t-shirt off over his head, their arms tangling-- and one memory that was burned into his brain forever was Klaus' wordless growl as he jerked Dorian's jeans open, and the way his hand had jerked as he touched Dorian's cock for the first time--

  


* * *

  


"And the cold marble leapt to life, a god," Dorian whispered into Klaus' ear, afterwards. When he had his breath back. It had taken quite a while.

They were curled up together against the foot of Dorian's bed, sweating and sticky, Dorian's hand tangled in Klaus' hair. Klaus grumbled at the poetry, batting irritably at Dorian, but his hand was gentle, and his knuckle brushed against Dorian's cheekbone before he pulled it away. "I only wish I could write you the kind of poetry you deserved," Dorian sighed, combing his fingers through Klaus' hair. He felt delightfully naughty. They hadn't even made it the three steps to the bed. They were both still wearing their _shoes_. He wiggled his toes inside his sneakers joyfully, and leaned over to press kisses to Klaus' bare shoulder. "My darling, _schatz, mein Naschkatze_..."

 _That_ did it. "Stop," Klaus finally spoke, sounding half-strangled. "Don't... Don't be ridiculous."

Even in the dim light, Dorian could see the flush spreading across the Major's face, and several intriguing places lower down. He smiled, stretching his neck up in order to nuzzle Klaus' ear. "Yes, absolutely, of course. What would you prefer? My brute, my monster, my unstoppable machine--"

"It still means the same thing when you say it like that! I can tell!" Poor darling Klaus. He sounded adorably aggrieved.

"You do, though. You deserve an epic," Dorian said. He felt like shouting, like dancing. Hell, just at the moment, he felt as if he could fly. "My great-hearted, hot-tempered, emerald-eyed warrior--" He stopped as Klaus took him by the shoulders, pushed him flat on the floor and rolled over on top of him, nearly knocking the breath out of Dorian as he laughed.

"You are just..." Klaus said, then shook his head and began sucking hard kisses into Dorian's collarbone.

"Oh yes, I am." Dorian grinned and shifted under him, tucking his foot over one of Klaus' ankles. He already wanted Klaus to stay here, with him, forever, and he already knew it wasn't going to happen.

Soon enough, Klaus would stand up. And standing up led to putting your clothes on-- at least, the ones you'd managed to take _off_. And getting dressed led to Klaus getting in his car and driving away, and that meant Dorian not seeing him again for God only knew how long. Weeks, months... And then there was no guarantee that this would ever happen again, either. Dorian rather suspected it would, now that there was precedent, but Klaus had a way of surprising him sometimes by being even more pig-headedly perverse than even Dorian would have expected.

Dorian didn't know how long this fragile détente of theirs was going to last, but he wasn't giving it up a second sooner than he had to.

"Come on," Klaus finally said with a sigh, pushing himself off Dorian. "Enough of this." All right, then. Dorian forced himself to let him go. To not cling like a broken-hearted lover. "Let's see if we can do it in the fucking bed this time," Klaus continued, his voice heavy with sarcasm, "like actual civilized human beings do."

"Oh," Dorian said, and sat up fast, almost knocking heads with Klaus in his hurry. "Well. I suppose being civilized must have some benefits, after all."

He let Klaus pull him to his feet, and then Klaus sat down on the edge of the bed and started taking his shoes off. After a second he seemed to think of something and lifted his head. "And turn that bloody picture to the wall, would you?"

Hiding a smile, Dorian did so. Coming back to the bed, he sat down next to Klaus and leaned against him, toeing his sneakers off. "My love," he said, and reached up to stroke the back of Klaus' neck, enjoying the way it made Klaus shiver and fumble at the knots. "My darling, my own..."

"Stop it," Klaus said, grumbling. One shoe was off, but the other was apparently being rather stubborn.

Dorian could have gotten the knot undone in an instant, but he was enjoying the Major's look of vaguely frustrated concentration. He curled his nails into the back of Klaus' neck-- oh, and that made him just _shudder_. "Don't worry, Major," he said, the usual _pro forma_ empty threat coming as easily as ever to his lips. "You'll get used to it."

Klaus looked at him sharply, and Dorian stared back, not sure what he'd said... or what Klaus was looking for. But then Klaus smiled, the faint crows' feet at the corners of his eyes at odds with the boyish twist of his mouth. "Well," he said. "I suppose I will have to."

"Oh," Dorian said, after a long pause. "Oh. I see." He bit his lip. Normally he wouldn't press. No, certainly not. But this was a momentous occasion, to say the least. "...Can't you say it any better than that?"

"No," Klaus said, irritated. He finally got his other shoe off, tossing it over Dorian's shoulder so that it landed at the foot of the bed with a thump. "I can't. And you know it."

"Brute," Dorian said fondly.

"Idiot," Klaus replied. "Now come here."

(end)


End file.
